The Lord's Maid
by BrodieBlue
Summary: Dean Ambrose is William Regal's maid ... This is my first foray into slash. This is not my original idea - I take no credit for the creation of Maidbrose or the pairing of Maidbrose and Regal. But everything else in this came from my mind. Contains crossdressing, D/s elements and slash. Don't like, don't read. Please read '1,001 Nights' by Grendel's Arm before you read this.


**I recommend you read '1,001 Nights' by Grendel's Arm before you read this. Grendel's Arm has explained Maidbrose better than I could and wrote something based on that idea wayyyy before I did!**

**Also, please note that I haven't read '1,001 Nights' yet because I didn't want to be accused of copying. So, if anything in this is exactly the same as anything you have read in that - it's purely a coincidence.**

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><p>Mr. Barrett admired the beautiful image of the new maid in slumber against the bright backdrop of a fresh English winter morning. The sunray's caressed his naked chest like long fingers, creating a golden halo of his hair. He was loathe to wake this sleeping beauty. It was with a wistful sigh that he delicately picked up the bell that rested on the dressing table and rang it gently, at first, getting steadily harder, until the maid stirred. The maid slowly stretched his arms over his head and pulled his lithe body into a sitting position. He blearily rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, then opened them fully, almost making the butler stagger backwards with the sharpness of his clear, blue gaze. His brow furrowed. Mr. Barrett noted that he was not pleased to be given his wake up call by him, he had irked him and it made him smile. He was pleasantly reminded of the perks of his position...<p>

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><p><em>I'm here, I'm still here, it was just a dream ...<em>

Dean took in Barrett's austere black attire with distaste. _Why don't they just let me go? _He wondered.

"Why are you in my room?" he asked.

Barrett's mouth stretched into a lopsided grin under his skew whiff nose.

"Good morning, Ambrose. Yes, why am I in _your _room?"

Dean bristled at the mistake he had made in calling this his room, it suggested acceptance of his position and he did not accept his position. He averted his eyes from Barrett's mocking face and pushed the bed's quilt away from him. Quickly rising from the bed, he revealed his nudity. He moved closer to Barrett and noticed the smile slip from the butler's face and his eyes travel downwards to his groin. He stopped in front of him, unashamed.

Barrett quickly recovered his composure, stiffening his neck and taking full advantage of the few inches he had on Dean's height.

"That was not a rhetorical question, Ambrose. Why am I in your room?"

"I slept through my alarm," the younger man shrugged. He turned his back on Barrett to make his way to the en-suite and to remind him that his job was done and his presence in his private space was no longer required. When he took a step forward he hoped that would mark the end of their one to one interactions for the day, until he felt Barrett's large hand roughly squeeze his right buttock. Stopping in his tracks, Dean repressed the grimace of discomfort that rippled through his body. He made to calmly remove Barrett's hand, but Barrett pressed his chest against his back. Dean then felt his beard tickle the side of his neck. He closed his eyes when his warm breath brushed the hollow of his ear.

"Do not forget this. You do not want to displease your Lord." Barrett's other hand came up to knead his left shoulder. "I took the liberty of running you a bath. His lordship will be waiting for you in the morning room."

Dean opened his eyes and flared his nostrils. A light mist was rolling through the gap beneath the old door to the bathroom and it smelled soothingly of lavender. In his hazy state he had not noticed this, until now. He wondered just how long Barrett had been here to be able to fill his bath. He recoiled from his touch and turned to face him again.

"Thank you," he said, slightly inclining his head towards him, though it grieved him to do so.

Barrett had no choice but to return the nod and graciously dismiss himself. He was not too high and mighty to incur the sting of the cane, should word of his untoward behaviour reach the Lord's ears ...

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><p>Dean straightened his maid's cap on top of his towel dried waves of hair; the finishing touch to his maid's uniform. He smoothed his lace clad hands over his freshly laundered skirt and not for the first time wondered who did his laundry. The workings of this grand manor house were still mysterious to him. How many people worked here? How many had been in his position before him? Never did he imagine he would lose his liberty and dignity so completely on that fateful night he had been dealt a bad hand of cards. The forfeit had been servitude, which he had agreed to with a light heart in his drunken state. He did not doubt he would win, did not even begin to imagine the consequences if he lost, until he got dealt that hand. On reflection he realised it had been a trap, but it was too late now. He had been changed in ways that could not be undone. But he had not been here so long that he could forget who he really was.<p>

"I am not a Lord's maid," he reminded himself aloud as he looked into the mirror, into his own honest blue eyes. "I'm Dean Ambrose."

It was with a feeling of pride in his handsome face, his strong, young man's body, in himself, that he left the privacy of his room with his head held high to face whatever punishment no doubt awaited him.

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><p>Dean's stocking covered feet softly padded along the plushly carpeted corridor which led to the morning room. The door to it was open, of course. No doors were closed on this floor; his lordship said they had nothing to hide within these walls. The man in question was sitting in an armchair in front of a roaring fire with his legs crossed over one another beneath his smoking jacket. He was perusing the morning newspapers, whilst sucking a cigar into his mouth and blowing plumes of smoke ahead of him. Dean stood awkwardly by the door, waiting for him to acknowledge his presence. He knew he was there; he had requested his presence, he had been listening out for his approaching footsteps and waiting to punish him. Dean found himself adjusting the straps of his apron that lay flush against his bare skin, framing his hardening nipples. Making sure he looked just so before his lordship so much as glanced his way.<p>

"Ambrose. Come closer," he suddenly said; softly, coaxingly.

His head remained bent over the newspapers as Dean walked to him. He remembered to cup his hands together in front of him, demurely. Now was not the time to be defiant. He was determined to see through the rest of his time here with as little bother as possible. He felt wroth with himself that he'd slipped and earned this punishment. He stopped adjacent to his chair, not between him and fireplace, but close enough. His lordship eventually decided to look up and greet him with a smile.

"My Master," Dean honoured him, whilst bending his knees and bowing his head in a curtsey.

"Ah good morning Ambrose! How nice it is to finally see you this morning. I was concerned I would not see you before midday."

His eyes did not betray any anger or disappointment he felt in Dean, but that was not a good indication of anything. He did not punish in anger.

"Please, don't look so fearful. I don't beat my maids for rising late."

Dean could not stop a pent up breath escaping his mouth.

"Show me your pretty smile," he ordered.

Dean forced a smile onto his guarded face and Regal tilted his head to the side, examining it.

"Hmm. I'll have a real one out of you before the day is through."

Dean felt his cheeks flame up and he found he could no longer keep the false smile on his face. Regal chuckled.

"Would you sweep up the soot and wood shavings, dear boy? I'm afraid I made quite a mess as you weren't here to light the fire for me."

"Yes, Master," Dean immediately answered.

He turned away to retrieve his dustpan and brush from his trolley that was already here for him in the morning room. Again, he didn't know where it came from or who had brought it for him. He brought it back with him, then carefully lowered himself to his knees on the stone flags that surrounded the fireplace. He looked at the mess he had to clean up; he'd have to get lower to do that. He spread his thighs and bent further forward; he felt his short skirt rise higher over his backside and was aware that Regal would see the silk panties stretched tightly across his privates, barely containing him.

He heard Regal sigh languidly behind him. Blood flooded Dean's pale complexion. He was not a modest young man. He knew he was very attractive and he should be used to being an ornament to Regal by now, dressed as he was. But he was bent over like a slut, on display for him; one did not get over that feeling of shame so quickly. He forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand and once he had completed it to the best of his ability he made a small movement to rise up again, when he felt Regal's shoe press down onto his back.

"Stay where you are. I need a foot rest." Dean stiffened at the order. "Make yourself functional," he then commanded, with another press of his shoe into his back.

William watched his charge spread out his hands and knees in obedience. His maid was being careful to place his hands correctly, splaying his fingers just the right width apart so that he could balance his weight on them comfortably. He had noticed when he had entered the morning room that his stockings and glovelettes were wearing thin; he'd have to some new ones made for him. He'd have Barrett place an order with the seamstress. As for Ambrose's panties, they left little to the imagination ... He forced himself to stop looking between his legs and stretched his leg out over the young man's broad, strong back. He made sure to scrape his heel along his bare flesh, leaving a pink trail to bloom in its wake. He stopped at his shoulder, allowing his heel to dig into the side of his exquisite neck. He crossed his left leg over his right and he noticed Mr. Ambrose's back slump slightly under his weight, but he quickly resumed his position.

"Good boy," William praised him.

Now feeling quite at peace with himself, he put his cigar between his lips again and took a long, satisfying drag of it.

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><p>Dean's shoulder was beginning to nag at him, begging him to rid himself of half a man's body weight. Matters were not helped by the fire he had blazing in front of him, even in this draughty house in the midst of winter, one could still get hot at this close a proximity to the fire. He sucked his lips into his mouth and tasted the perspiration on them, he wanted to throw his hands in the air and wipe his hands down his slick face, but he couldn't. He had to trust that his Lord would relieve his suffering soon, he had never pushed him past his limits yet. Whilst deep in these thoughts he realised a whimper had escaped his mouth; he immediately clasped a hand over his offending mouth. He closed his eyes in disappointment at his lack of willpower and slowly slid his hand down his face, allowing at it to finally rest at the hollow of his neck.<p>

"I'm sorry Master, please forgive me," he said.

He dared to turn his head to look at Regal over the frilly strap of his apron that decorated his shoulder, knowing that he had failed his Master, knowing that his best wasn't good enough ... Dean's innocent, sorrowful eyes shone crystallised blue against the pink tint of his cheeks.

"My darling," Regal said.

His voice was tender and his eyes were soft. He joined his maid on the floor, kneeling on the stone with him and taking Dean's face in his hands.

"There is nothing to forgive."

He smoothed his hand over Dean's hot, reddened cheek, to the back of his neck. He cupped his hand at the nape of his soft neck and clamping his fingers around it, he pulled him towards him. He pressed his mouth against his, and at first he was unresponsive. Dean's soft lips were motionless but Regal knew; he knew that he desired this. He moved his left hand down the maid's firm thigh, running his palm up the fishnets, revelling in the feel of the fine netting, the silkiness of the lace and he gasped when he felt his warm flesh. His fingers trailed up the smooth inside of Dean's thigh until he found his package wrapped up tightly in white silk, just for him. Dean was sensitive to his touch; his mouth flew open when he felt William's rough fingers delicately stroke the outline of his cock.

"Please touch me," Dean moaned and showed his willing by suddenly bringing up his right hand to tightly grip William's wavy locks and arch his head back.

William grinned at the boy's dominant streak. It could not be broken. That's why he found him so intoxicating, it was why he couldn't let him go ... William was very eager to please him. He let go of Dean's neck to take a firm grip of Dean's panties and pull them down his hips and over the swell of his buttocks. Having got what he wanted, Dean kicked his panties away from him and sank into his lordship's armchair.

"Lift my skirt," he demanded.

Dean didn't know how this had come to be. He only knew that sometimes a part of him liked dressing like this; he liked to play the part Regal wanted him to play. He liked being Regal's pampered maid and he liked Regal. He liked this, and he knew that no matter how much he wanted to, how much he thought he should, he could never go back to living how he used to live. William crawled to him and raised his skirt above his hips with gentle hands, and then with a skilled hand he tightened his fist around Dean's length. Gripping it tightly he squeezed, pulling the loose skin up and over the head and bringing it down, exposing the pink, perfectly shaped top. He lowered his mouth to his cock and looked into Dean's eyes whilst he licked the top, tasting the liquidy droplets that swam from within. He watched Dean's eyes roll back into his head and felt heat surge to his own cock, from pleasure that he held such power over him. He lowered his eyes again to Dean's cock that twitched in his hand, squeezed it again and this time admired the small dark opening at the top.

He then snapped the suspenders open around Dean's thighs. Part of the pleasure of his garb was undressing him, slowly removing all the layers from his well crafted body. He then completely removed his panties which had been stretched to nearly nothing more than threads between Dean's widely spread thighs. Always prepared, Regal then pulled a bottle of lube from a pocket of his smoking jacket and squeezed a liberal amount between his hands, rubbing them together until both his hands were coated. He slid his left hand around Dean's throbbing member and he eased his right hand beneath Dean's cheeks. Dean aided him, lifting his backside and allowing William to rub his entrance with a slicked finger. He rubbed circles, relaxing the muscle before he pushed his finger inside the hot, tight passage. He felt Dean tighten around his finger as he inserted it inch by inch, squeezing him to increase the sensation of being full. But Dean was impatient, he would take Regal's teasing no more and he pushed him away. Turning around, he bent over, gripping the back of the armchair.

"Fuck me. Now. Shove your fucking cock inside me."

"Patience," Regal whispered into Dean's ear as he slathered his own aching cock in more lubricant.

When he was sure Dean was ready for him he grasped his hips and slowly began to push himself inside him. He watched his head disappear inside Dean, determined to watch him swallow him up. But the tension was too much; his mind swam with pleasure at the vice like grip around his dick and the overwhelming warmth. Dean's loud cry made it all the more sweeter, he took Dean's cock in his left hand, whilst keeping his right hand on Dean's hip, and pulling him back and forth on him.

Dean gripped the armchair desperately and buried his teeth into the head rest, tearing at the soft leather. He covered Regal's hand that was pumping his cock to orgasm with his own and squeezed his fist. Only mere months ago he would have never imagined he would be in this position, he never thought he'd be taking it like this. But in the moment none of what he used to be mattered to him. The pleasure, the building friction, the heat, how deep his Lord hit and how wonderfully full he felt was all that mattered.

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><p>Barrett stood in the open door. He was not illuminated by the fire; he was shrouded in the darkness of the corridor that stretched out behind him. Neither master nor maid noticed. He watched on bitterly. He watched and listened to their coupling whilst his heart thumped so loudly it felt like it would break free of his ribcage and leave him cold and empty.<p> 


End file.
